


Speak Your Secrets, Stay Your Tongue

by StuntMuppet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Pegging, Post-Game(s), Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 00:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuntMuppet/pseuds/StuntMuppet
Summary: Hilda's tired. Claude's needy. A compromise is (mostly) reached.Or, "How can I advance my Men Get Pegged agenda while taking Hilda's pillow-princess nature into account? Like this."
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 185





	Speak Your Secrets, Stay Your Tongue

"Ugh, don't hug me right now. I'm disgusting." Hilda warned, climbing out of her arriving wagon. Claude, per usual for requests like that, ignored her. 

"I'm not joking. I've been marinating in this armor _ all day _." She rested her head against him despite her protests, warm and familiar, even if she didn't return the hug. "Couldn't you draw me a bath instead of getting my grime all over your clothes?"

"I missed you too, Hilda."

That, at least, earned him a smile. "Yeah. Three whole months, finally over. It felt a lot longer, didn't it?"

Claude kissed her on the nose, which she in turn wrinkled. "Felt like years." 

"Don't kiss me for real yet either. I probably still taste like cheap inn coffee."

He ignored that too. For all the other discomforts Hilda tolerated on the road she'd kept her lips soft. The balm she kept in her valise smelled distinctly of mint.

"Hmm." She tilted her head once they separated. "Maybe..._ don't _heat me up a bath, then? That seems to be how you're operating today."

She beamed at him and batted her eyelashes and he couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, okay. Get unpacked and I'll start it."

"Thank _ you _," she singsonged, and spun around on her heel as she stepped away.

One day he might be able to persuade her how gorgeous she was like this, dirt and tangles and resolve, magnificently alive. But maybe such times were sweeter for their rarity. 

It had been a long three months without her.

* * *

"I thought all you wanted was a bath?"

"The only thing worse than being smelly is being smelly on an empty stomach," Hilda countered, taking a spoonful of her stew and closing her eyes to savor it. "Oooh, real fish that hasn't been broiled down to leather, I have _ missed you _."

She licked her lips once she swallowed, enthusiasm winning out over tidiness for once. His eyes, unbidden, followed the tip of her tongue. 

"You know what else I've missed while you were away?" Claude said, as she tucked back in to her dinner. "Ever since you left, I've been just starving." 

"Aw, have you been pining for me?" She placed a hand over her heart. "Wasting away without your lady love? Claude, that is so _ cute _." 

"Oh no, I've been eating. Pretty well, too. But no matter what at the end of the day I just wouldn't feel...satisfied."

It wasn't _ only _ an innuendo. No one else around him matched Hilda for conversation. In her absence meals became businesslike and councils dragged on for hours. She was fun, when he most badly needed it.

But he winked at her all the same.

Hilda looked askance at him, and raised both her eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. "I really don't think you can complain about not being 'satisfied'," she cooed, dropping her voice. "_ You _ haven't been sharing a barracks with nine other people and zero privacy."

"Right."

“And two washbasins between us, and one didn’t work.” She pointed her spoon at him for emphasis.

“You endure so much, Hilda.”

"I really do." She shook her head melodramatically and returned again to her food. "So yeah. Bath first. Not negotiable."

* * *

"You want to hear another secret?" Claude took a seat beside the bathtub, next to her. 

Hilda shimmied her shoulders as she settled in, making tiny ripples that lapped a glistening halo around her body. "Mm-hmm. Always. Spill it."

"Remember that souvenir you brought back for me?" 

She kept her eyes closed but her smile grew wider. "I certainly do."

About a week before her departure she'd unveiled what she called her latest artistic acquisition, in a subdued wooden case whose origin she refused to reveal. Dark velvet lining inside the box nestled around a twist of clear glass, flanged at the base and curved at the tip. Another indentation above it held a set of leather straps. 

When she first flourished the box open for him, he had joked that this seemed like more effort then she'd be willing to spend. But then he had looked up, and seen the ravenous spark in her eyes.

"Well," Claude confessed, stirring the bathwater and watching the jasmine flowers she'd sprinkled in swirl and bob. "I've been thinking about that night. A lot. Kind of...haven't been able to stop."

"Oh, I didn't think _ that _ was a secret. At least not from me." 

Hilda’s voice thrummed low, and settled at the base of his spine.

"No, no, I know you knew that," he said. The bath sloshed again as she leaned further back, her head rested against her shoulder, warm and sleepy. "No, the secret part was that I got it back out last week. I couldn't quite wait for you any longer."

Now that got her eyes open. "_ Really _." Her brow arched. "And how'd it go?"

"Turns out, without you?" Claude shook his head. "Not much fun at all."

"Well, yeah. I could've told you that." She pursed her lips and breathed out, sending a petal drifting away. "It's like how you can't tickle yourself, you know. Because then you expect it and - _ don't you dare _."

She pointed a stern warning in Claude's direction, frowning at his curled fingers and impish grin. He raised both hands up in feigned innocence as though he hadn't been just about to go for her conveniently bare stomach. (Not as ticklish as her knees, but much more accessible.)

“As I was _ about _ to say,” he said, resting a hand on the nape of her neck instead to steer her gaze back towards him, “trying it on myself just made it worse. Made it that much harder having to count down the days til I could have the real thing again.”

The sigh she replied with morphed halfway through into a yawn. “Claude," she pouted, "I'm so _ tired _. You have no idea how much effort it takes being on the other end of that thing.”

“I feel like I might have a little bit of an idea?” 

Hilda shook her head. “You’ve got a span and two stone on me. It’s not the same at _ all _ as when you’re on top.” 

It was his turn to sulk at her. “Is it good effort, at least?”

“Hm. I guess you could call it that.” Against his palm her neck went slack again. She stretched her wiry arms and rested them on the walls of the bath, closer to lying down than to sitting. Sweet-smelling water pearled down her skin. “I am pretty pleased with the results.”

Her left arm dangled outside the bathtub. With her left hand she traced blindly along his body, feeling her way down buttons and seams. It felt casual, aimless, until she sidled closer to the side of the bath to add to her reach.

She still couldn't reach him all the way from there, but she could find a particular spot in his lap to dance her fingertips across. The teasing brush of fabric made him squirm. 

"Look how worked up just talking about it gets you." The arch of her back peeked her breasts above the water line, soft and sparkling wet. She murmured and traced slow warming circles around him. "I could fall asleep right here right now and you still make me want to say yes."

The last word was a breath and a whisper, worsening the flutter in his stomach. He’d been dreaming of that _ yes _. 

Hilda's lips parted in a smile. “I’ve been thinking about it too, you know." As faint as her touches were their absence still ached when she stopped and drew her hand back. He shifted, chasing her, before even realizing he had. "About how much fun it was to keep a...delicious little secret like that for you.” 

The room felt too small, and too hot, and too short of air. 

“I thought about how sometimes people would say something about you.” She reached behind her and took hold of Claude's wrist, moving him until she held his hand before her lips. “Asking about my husband, or talking about the _ Crown Prince _.” 

He felt her smile. All this time and Hilda still couldn’t keep the teasing out of her voice when she called him that. It laid him bare every time she said it, cut away the years and the stakes, opened warning slits in the veils he’d spent his life wrapped in.

“And every time I would think, oh yeah, you are a crown prince, aren’t you.” She laced her fingers in his, kissed the back of his hand, let her words trace across his skin. “You’re important and powerful and _ love it _ when your princess bends you over. Wonder how different they’d look at you if they knew. Wonder what they’d say if I told them.”

Shame and arousal stole over him, each impossible to tell from the other. She wouldn’t - neither of them could - and yet the thought of it…

What even was a secret, after all, if speaking it posed no danger?

“You could.” The rasp in his own voice surprised him. “You could tell anyone you wanted. I’d let you.”

Hilda’s sigh came warm and whisper-light. “Forget telling,” he went on. “I’d let you _ show _anyone you wanted. You could order me onto my hands and knees in front of everyone and I’d do it, I want it that bad.” He let his hand fall from hers and trailed his fingers along her collarbone, savored the needy little whine that crept into her breathing. The nakedness of the fantasy, the sear of being seen, crackled hot as lightning in his blood - made him burn to strip down further. Let him be endlessly open to her, broken apart till she could take his heart in her hands. “I’d let you take me right on the throne, Hilda.”

She shuddered. She _ yelped _. Claude could see below the water her pale body curled and tight and wanting; rose up higher on his knees so he could reach further, touch her deeper - 

And her eyes snapped back open. "Wait!"

"What is it?" 

"Get your shirt off first."

For a few seconds her request didn’t register; his head was still spinning too hard from the abrupt stop. When he finally returned to himself all he could manage was "...okay." 

"You're going to dirty up my bath otherwise!" She protested, as he loosed the clasps with unsteady hands. "Especially after you let me smudge my sweaty clothes all over - "

He dropped the undone shirt to the floor, and kissed her quiet.

* * *

"Don't tell me you're tired already," she teased, as he pushed his hair from his brow. 

He was tired already. Quite tired, and sweaty, and cramped in the legs. He'd almost asked to stop, once or twice. But then Hilda had yawned or stirred, and the toy strapped across her hips had shifted inside him and struck sparks, and just a taste of that pleasure had set him chasing it again.

"Hah...only a little." She'd insisted on lying flat on her back in the bedsheets she’d so missed, and so he'd had to perch in her lap, lifting his weary body up and down on her cock while she lay sleepy-eyed and maddeningly still. “You wouldn’t be willing to help me out a little, would you?"

"But I'm _ exhausted _ ." Hilda whined, stretching her arms up over her head and yawning again. "I'd have been perfectly happy to just lie back and let you do as you pleased with me, but you just _ had _ to go on about how much you missed this." She wiggled her hips to emphasize the subject, and if he hadn't been so short of breath he could better have swallowed the gasp those waves of motion and heat forced from him. He pushed back against her, but she stilled again, very clear that that was all he was getting for now. 

"I know...I know." Claude gave up for the moment and sat back up on his knees to rest. "I brought this...all on myself."

Hilda reached one arm up and traced her fingertips over his stiff cock, lazily as a cat batting a string - still so soft, still so faint, still inching closer to _ enough _. Even if he wanted to she wouldn’t have let him quit. "You know you did. Poor thing.” 

She left off from her play and rested her index finger on her lip instead, drinking in his desperation. “You know, as good as you were to me, it does feel a little bit mean, leaving you like this." She wetted her fingers, reached back down to him, and dragged them down slowly - far too slowly - from the head to the root. "Wouldn't even take much from the looks of it," she purred as he hissed out more steadying breaths. "Just look how close you already are for me.”

"It won’t. I know it won’t.” _ Gods _this thing made him so sensitive. Maybe he wouldn’t even need her to move, maybe if she’d just get her hands around him, maybe… “Just a little bit more, that’s all.” 

"Hmm.” Her gaze raked over him, leaving him tender and raw. “Persuade me, Claude. Ask."

"I _ am _ asking! What do you think - " 

Her fingers whipped round him and tightened, so suddenly it edged into pain, forcing out a whimpering, helpless cry. 

"You can ask nicer than that.” 

He curled his hands into fists and stilled himself again. The simple words she wanted never came easily. Even now, even like this, they slipped from his tongue, let themselves be swallowed, replaced by familiar dissembling. But they so thrilled her when he could finally pin those words down and gasp them free…

"Please, Hilda." 

"That's a start. Please what?"

"I…" She eased her grip, back to the ghost of skin on skin, chasing his thoughts away. "I want…" Fanned her fingers and traced rings around him. "Please, just _ help me _."

She mewled, silky and honey-sweet, so much sweeter than the hunger he could see once again in her eyes. "Feels so _ good _when you talk like that. C'mon. Pick yourself up."

Behind him she bent her knees and shuffled her feet in towards her body. The change in angle canted her hips inward and up and _ oh, _what a difference a simple change like that made. Now he could lean, and brace himself against the bed, and drive her as deep as he’d craved - 

And it still wasn’t enough, and she still wasn’t moving, and she _ knew it _, because she looked innocently up at him and asked “You good now?” 

The strangled _ no _ that escaped him would have been pitiful, if any part of him remembered what shame was. She tutted. "Not my fault you're not being specific. How can I give you what you need if you won't say what it is?"

"Hilda, I can't - I can't stand waiting anymore, I have to - " He was babbling and he knew it, scrambling for words that stubbornly fled him.

"Mm-mm. Just say it. That's all I want."

How those words writhed, how they twisted, how they finally, ecstatically, broke.

“I need you to fuck me,” he sobbed. "Please, fuck me so I can come for you, _ please _."

"Good boy." Her thighs tensed and hips rocked upward and she moved _ at last _ in slow bucking thrusts, kindling unbearable fire inside and stealing what tatters of breath he had remaining - "And you may."

He obeyed her, moans brimming from his lips, helpless and trembling and only, _ only _ hers.

* * *

Once the shocks had settled and his breathing calmed Hilda gave him a perfunctory swat on the thigh. "Well? Go clean me up. You don't expect me to sleep like this, do you?"

It took him a few tries to find his footing once he left the bed. 

It fell to him to dry her off, put the strap back in its box, hand her her nightgown when she reached out for it without opening her eyes, and help her pull it on the rest of the way when tried to get it over her head without getting up. Her “thank you” afterward was a mumble.

At some point while he washed his face and dressed she managed to crawl under the covers, but by the time he returned she was already cocooned, curled up on her side and occasionally, faintly, snoring. 

It was strange, how much different it had been going to sleep without the sound. 


End file.
